


i've got you on your knees

by cherryliqueur



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Begging, Blackmail, Drugged Sex, F/M, Grinding, Lap Sex, Multiple Orgasms, Nipple Play, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Overstimulation, Riding, Riverdale - Season 2, Riverdale - Season 2 Episode 19: Prisoners, Sexual Coercion, Teasing, Temperature Play, Underage Drinking, Underage Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-26 01:14:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17132243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherryliqueur/pseuds/cherryliqueur
Summary: Nick drugs Veronica in his hotel room instead, and he finally gets what he's "owed."





	i've got you on your knees

**Author's Note:**

> For a prompt from the [Riverdale Kinkmeme:](https://riverdale-kinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/1356.html?thread=556108#cmt556108)
> 
> "Archie didn't break free. Veronica didn't drug Nick, and they end up having sex  
> Lots of fondling of her breasts."
> 
>  
> 
> \---  
> My first attempt at writing heavy dubcon/noncon of this variety, despite having always had an interest in reading it, and I'd say I would definitely write another if the right prompt arises! I had a lot of fun finding Veronica's characterization with this scenario.

“Ronnie.” The nickname rolls off Nick’s tongue with ease, in the same throaty drawl he used to groan against her lips as they made out between the red oak shelves of their private school library. She had expected that the knowledge of what he’d tried to do to Cheryl - the realization of just how selfish and repulsive he is, to be capable of drugging and raping girls with a charming smile on his face, most likely when they were still _dating_ \- to have drowned out any ounce of attraction she’d held toward him. The fact that it _hasn’t_ is alarming, and a little bit terrifying. It’s as if her body simply doesn’t care. It only remembers the way that his throaty voice vibrated against her lips, her cheek, her neck, as he slipped his fingers under her skirt and teased her to orgasm during study hall; and, as if by muscle memory, hearing it now sends a low but warm pulse through her.

It feels... _wrong_ , and dirty, and it touches some dark, reckless part inside of her that must’ve known, even back then, just how terrible Nick was - and _liked_ it.

“You wore purple,” he points out, his eyes tracing slowly down the front of her to take in the tease of cleavage visible through the mesh material, down to where a thin belt cinches around her waist. His eyes glint. “ _Elegant_ , just like you.”

“I remembered how much you love me in this color.” She gives him a small, tight smile as she admits this little truth. She’d learned from her parents how the art of charming works: how every detail is calculated, meant to stroke someone’s ego so that they might be persuaded to be cooperative. She doubts Nick would show some kind of mercy tonight - not when he’s finally getting what he wants, after spending the entirety of their relationship pushing her to go all the way with him - but perhaps she could persuade him to take it easy on her.

“I remember a lot of things,” he drawls, opening the door a little wider as he steps aside, the gesture every bit as silent but demanding as him. She steps inside and her eyes are immediately drawn to the small table a few paces from the door, set with pillar candles and fine china and draped in a white linen tablecloth, in true Nick St. Clair fashion. “I’ve missed you back in New York.”

 _You miss the conquest of me,_ she thinks to herself as she walks over the to table, and her stomach flips as her gaze slides over the spread, settling on the bottle being nursed in a bucket of ice. “Champagne, caviar, pâté. All of my favorites.” She musters up a playful sort of smile as she turns to him, unwilling to acknowledge the way her heart stutters in her chest. “You remembered, Nicky.”

But of course, with his mind set, he won’t be easily distracted. “What are you still doing in this hick town, when all of Manhattan should be kissing your feet?” His dark, glinting eyes are fixed on her, dipping to the pulse thrumming along the curve of her neck as he walks over to her.

“I like it here.”

He scoffs with a dubious shake of his head. “This is a phase. Same with that hayseed, Archie.” At this, his smile turns sharper. “If only he could see us now.”

Her heart trips at the thought. If he found out that she’d come here willingly, with Nick’s favorite shade of red on her lips and favorite perfume spritzed across her neck, wearing a dress in his favorite color for her... She doesn’t quite know what Archie would think. Part of him would be willing to understand, to see that her need to protect him had driven her here, backed into a corner. He wouldn’t hold it against her, not in the slightest.

But still. She wonders if he could even stomach the thought of Nick touching her and _fucking_ her, no matter what the reason.

“No need to gloat, Nicholas,” she says, her voice coming out soft as she pictures Archie’s face, twisted in anguish as he imagines Nick unzipping her from her dress. He would leave marks, she’s certain - because he’s always gotten some twisted, possessive sort of pleasure in knowing that they were there, under her prim uniform blouse. He’ll probably bite harder this time, knowing that Archie might eventually see them on her and know who they came from. If he hasn’t found some way to coerce her into leaving Archie and Riverdale for good, that is. “Why don’t you sit down and make yourself comfy?” she asks Nick, shaking herself loose before she can follow that particular train of thought. “I’ll fix us some drinks.”

He smiles, pleased by this, and she busies herself with pouring their champagne as he makes his way to the couch, finally giving her some space to catch her breath. She remembers how much he enjoyed being served by her, specifically. As if he’d expected it to become her role one day: tending to his every whim, like any doting, socialite wife would do. Like her mother does for her father. The sick part is that, for the longest time, she’d aspired to have a marriage like her parents. And for a while she thought she might have had that with Nick.

“We could’ve been something, you and I,” he muses with an almost wistful sort of sigh, and she swallows lightly, trying not to be bothered about his thoughts being in a dangerously similar space to hers. She picks their champagne flutes by the stems and walks to the couch, careful not to touch him as she settles onto the cushion, other than to hand him his glass. “This dalliance with you and Archie...” He leans in, and she turns, almost alarmed to find his face closer to hers. “It’s beneath you.”

His voice is throaty again, making her stomach tighten with want, and his eyes are darker now. She shouldn’t find him attractive, especially not when he’s got a smug, satisfied smile on his face as he taunts her about her boyfriend. 

“Can you please stop talking about Archie?” she asks, her voice practically a whisper.

And Nick is nothing short of amused by this, knowing how much hold he has over her. How much he knows her, even now, after all this time, and can press every button he needs to get her to squirm. Her desire must be written all over her face, because he concedes with an easy, “Couldn’t agree more.”

He clinks his glass against hers, and then she takes a sip of her champagne, relishing in the sweet, smooth taste of it as it bubbles in her mouth. She gives a low hum of appreciation despite herself and Nick smiles, pleased, as he slides closer to her. His hand coming to settle on her knee, a warmth rippling over her from his touch, and she takes a bigger gulp, needing the buzz. Maybe if she gets just drunk enough, she can pretend like she doesn’t hate herself for being here. For still being attracted to him after learning of his horrors.

“It’s good, isn’t it?” Nick nods at her champagne as she swallows yet another gulp, nearly downing half the glass before coming up for air. Warmth unfurls in her stomach and fans out across her skin, coloring her cheeks. Back in New York, she went drinking with her friends - with _Nick_ \- so often that one glass of champagne wouldn’t have done anything for her, other than tickle her throat a little. When bouncers would turn the other cheek from their names alone, and a few crisp bills slipped into their hands, there was no reason not to indulge in half a dozen rounds from the bar. It’s a harder thing to do in Riverdale, though, and she knows her tolerance has waned because of it.

“I’ve never heard of this label before,” she says rather than agreeing, inclining her head toward the bottle she’d left at the table.

“You wouldn’t have.” He leans over, sets his glass down on the coffee table. “It’s vintage, something my parents had flown in from some small European country no one’s ever heard of. But the label isn’t what’s special.” There’s something to his tone - something in the slow, curling smirk tugging at his lips, the twinkle in his eyes - that makes her pause. “What’s special is the glass.” He lightly flicks his finger against her flute, making it chime as she pulls it away from her lips, nearly emptied now. “Or, more specifically, what I coated the inside of the glass with.”

Her heart pauses for a beat, a dull, hot throb pulsing through her. It’s familiar, this sensation; not the champagne, not even the lust.

But the tingling. _This_ tingling - the hot, pulsing kind, making her blood thrum and her nerves prickle - pulls at her, making something click into place.

She nearly drops her glass. “You...” She trails off, shaking her head.

“I always thought your high alcoholic tolerance attributed to you not being so affected by it,” he says, his tone conversational, almost nonchalant, as she feels the world starting to become hazy and faraway. His eyes are alight with amusement and something akin to triumph, like he finally figured something out. “I also considered that maybe your natural stubbornness was what kept you mostly sober.” His eyes flick down to her lips as her tongue darts out to lick them, despite her urge wipe the champagne from her mouth with a cloth. “But now I’m thinking that maybe I just didn’t give you a high enough dosage.”

“You _roofied_ me?” she breathes, barely getting out the words through the tightness in her throat. She expects a panic to settle over her, but her senses are growing too heavy, her mind growing too foggy, to want to run away.

“No. Not you.” He reaches out to grasp her chin with his fingers, and her sex flutters at his touch. “Never you, Ronnie.”

She shakes her head, her grip slackening, and he takes the glass from her before she can drop it. “Then what did you...”

“An aphrodisiac, organically made, of course,” he says with a twitch to the corner of his smirking lips. “I know how particular you are about what you put in your body, after all.” He slides his hand up and down her leg, up and down, making a warmth ripple through her with every graze of his fingers on her skin. “It’s hard to find and expensive to purchase, if you can even manage to twist the arm of the supplier to agree to it. Which is why I never attempted to give you too much.” He slides his fingers all the way up, slipping under the hem of her skirt, and she sucks in a gasp when he touches the damp front of her lace panties. His eyes flash. “Although, if the effects of a higher dosage are this instantaneous, I might have to invest in bigger shipments.”

“You’re _vile_ ,” she breathes, and she _hates_ how her voice comes out shaky and desperate.

He ignores this, circling over her with two fingers slowly. “It helps that you’ve always wanted me on your own,” he tells her with a throaty chuckle. “Even if you never let me fuck you, you were always willing to do almost everything else as soon as I got a few drops in you. Trying to create lust is one thing, but amplifying what’s already there?” He presses over her wet cunt and her eyelashes flutter. “ _Easy._ ”

She whimpers as he cups her with his hand, the heel of it grinding dangerously close to her clit as he rubs his fingers faster over her cunt lips. Her head tips back against the couch, her body feeling heavier, hazier, as memories of her and Nick flicker behind her half-closed eyelids: her on her knees in the back of his limousine, practically humping his leg as she gave him a blow job; him fingering her under the table through the speeches at a charity gala; her spread out on a table in a dark corner of the school library, masturbating as Nick stroked his cock and came over the inside of her thighs and dried to her skin under her skirt before they had to get to class. She’d always felt a little wild and reckless around him, _because_ of him, in a way she couldn’t quite place.

Now she knows why.

“Strip for me,” he practically growls in her ear, lightly smacking her cunt before pulling his hand away, and she finds herself _obeying_ , rising to her feet and keeping her gaze fixed on his as she reaches behind her for the zipper of her dress. Every part of her feels throbbing and white-hot with need, drowning out the sensible, sober corner of her mind telling her to make a run for it, and the top of her dress falls away from her shoulders as she tugs the zipper down. She slips her arms free, but before she can tug it all the way off, Nick is on his feet and reaching around to unclasp her strapless bra. He lets it fall to the ground and then spins her around, grasping her breasts with both hands and pulling her back flushed to his chest.

She gasps, her nipples so sensitive that one twist of his fingers has her knees nearly buckling underneath her. The stubble along his jaw scratches at her neck as he dips his head, finding her pulse and sucking as he kneads her breasts with both hands. Her eyes roll closed, a moan falling from her lips as he tweaks and tugs at her nipples, and he groans, “ _Fuck_ , you’ve always had the most perfect tits.” He pinches them between his fingers, hard, and she squeals as her spine arches. “Touch yourself,” he commands, letting his hands fall away from her as he bites at her neck, and she cups herself, soothing her throbbing nipples with a gentle rub of her fingers. “You always liked it rough, didn’t you? Always loved it when I fucked your tits and bit your nipples and sucked hickeys into your perfect skin.” She can hear the smirk in his voice. “Remember when you came just from me playing with your nipples? You came _hard_ , like a fucking fountain.”

She whines, the memory flooding through her: how he’d laid her out in a different hotel suite, used an entire bucket of ice to tease her, circling her nipples and her clit with the ice until each and everyone cube melted away. The frigid touch of the ice alternating with the hot licks of his tongue for an hour straight had been enough to make her come, the sheets damp with her release and the melted ice dripping off of her.

With a harsh tug, he shoves her dress down her hips, the fabric straining and ripping before it falls to the floor, and then she hears the couch creak as he plops himself back down. She glances over her shoulder to find him staring up at her as he takes his time unbuckling his belt, his legs spread wide, his grin smug. He raises his eyebrows in a silent command, and, with a lick of her lips, she hooks her thumbs under the waistband of her panties and starts pushing them down her hips. His gaze is fixed on her ass as she starts to bend over, shimmying the tight, tiny panties down her legs, and she has to look away as her cunt clenches. He could probably see it, just as he could probably see how wet she is, how her arousal is slick on the inside of her thighs.

She bends over, pushes her panties down to her ankles and steps out of them, and then sucks in a gasp as his hands pull her down roughly to his lap.

“Answer me this, Ronnie,” he says as he takes her hips and rubs her over his slacks, up and down, her wetness dampening the material. “You still like to dance, don’t you?” It’s a question he doesn’t need an answer to, a command she knows without having to be asked, but he tells her, anyway, with a hard slap to the top of her thigh. “Why don’t you give me a little show right here?”

She moans, her body throbbing with need, heavy with lust, and her hips start moving as if on their own. She braces her hands against the tops of his thighs and shifts back until she feels his cock pressing against her ass cheeks. She circles her hips, grinding back against him, his shaft slipping against the wet folds of her sex as she gyrates atop his lap. Her body sways and rocks, her cunt twitching with every rub against his cock, and her head is spinning. All she can focus on is the aching, pulsing _want_ thrumming through her veins and gathering low in her stomach, drowning everything else out.

Nick grasps one of her breasts with one hand, making her hips stutter as they rub against his cock, and his other hand hooks her leg over his, spreading her open wide as he slips his fingers over her cunt. Her body jolts, spine arching as he finds her clit with ease, slick with arousal, and starts rubbing in quick, tight circles.

“Wonder how fast I can make you come with all that aphrodisiac in you,” he mumbles into her ear as she writhes above him, her hand grasping at the back of the couch for some kind of anchor as she spirals further and further into pure sensation. Her lips are parted, her chest rising in rapid, jagged breaths. “How many orgasms has Archie ever given you in one night?” he asks, taunting, his hand spanking her pussy once, twice, three times, before bringing his hand up and shoving his fingers into her parted lips. She can taste herself on him, and she sucks at her arousal, mewling when he pulls away to cup her cunt. “Answer me, Ronnie.”

Her sex is twitching under his palm, teetering on the edge, needing him to touch her _more_. “F-Four,” she breathes out.

He hums, almost sounding impressed. “Well, guess I need to make you come eight times, at _least,_ so you remember that I’m twice the man he’ll ever be.”

She whimpers, nearly blacking out at the thought, but she doesn’t get a chance to protest because then he’s spanking her cunt again, and again, and again, right over her clit, and she keens out in orgasm, her body writhing on top of him. He hooks two fingers inside of her, letting his hand rest against her cunt as it spasms and clutches at him, aching, needing to be filled, needing to be _fucked_.

And he chuckles because he knows it, too.

“Who made you come, Ronnie?” He curls his fingers, finding her g-spot with ease, and her eyes roll closed as she moans loudly. “ _Who_?”

“You,” she blurts out, her moan climbing an octave when he bites down on her neck, hard.

“Who?” he repeats, his tone darker, sharper, and then he pulls his fingers out and starts rubbing at her again, making her mewl through her orgasm as he pushes her right toward another. “Say it, Veronica, and I’ll fuck you like I know you want me to. Your cunt practically swallowed my fingers just now, that’s how desperate you are to be filled.” Her body tries to coil away from the sensation, but he wraps an arm around her to keep her locked in place, hooks his ankle around hers to keep her legs open, and she all but squeals as her second orgasm hits her before her first has barely started to dissolve.

“ _Nick!_ ” she keens out, her eyes watering, her head shaking back and forth as she’s pinned down by pleasure.

“Louder.”

“ _Nick_ ,” she practically screams, her hands clawing at the back of the couch as she tries to twist herself off of his lap. “Nick, _Nick!”_

“Beg me to fuck you,” he growls, pulling his hand away and grasping his cock, rubbing her twitching, spasming entrance with his tip. “Tell me how much you need me to fuck you, Ronnie, and I will. Tell me how much you need my cock.”

“Fuck me, fuck me, _fuck me_ , please, please, _Nick, please fuck me_ ,” she cries out, her clit throbbing, her pussy aching to be filled. She’s too drunk on lust and want to care how loud she’s being, how desperate she sounds, and she tries to hump back against his cock as he holds her still, writhing and squirming just out of reach. “I need you to fuck me, Nick, I need your cock in me, I need your cock. Please, _please,_ Nick, I need you to fuck me with your cock.”

“Even with your boyfriend watching?” he taunts, almost laughing now, but before she can respond - before she can even comprehend what he’s just said - he lifts her hips and sinks her right down on his cock, and she keens as he bottoms out in one stroke. She comes from just this, from being stretched and filled so entirely, so quickly, and she feels his chest rumble against her back with a low chuckle. He shifts them, her knees finding purchase on the cushions, and she’s riding his cock before she can even catch her breath.

“Oh, _oh, fuck me_ ,” she moans as his hand comes over her clit again, rubbing her as she spasms and fucks herself on his cock.

“That’s right, scream for me, so Archie can hear every word.” Nick chuckles again as he rubs her harder, making her squeal as her knees give out, and her body falls limp to the side, buzzing and humming with pure pleasure. He moves with her, curling around her back and fucking her faster. It feels as if her bones have turned to liquid, as if her muscles have turned to lead, and her cunt starts tightening around his cock as the sparks of a fourth orgasm start to swirl low in her stomach. “I set him up with a nice camera feed to this hotel room, and he’s been watching all night,” Nick growls into her ear, making her body shudder. She’s not quite sure if she’s come again, or if her orgasm has just become one long, blissful, almost numbing sensation. “He watched you grind on my lap like some common whore, heard you beg for my cock and cry out my name, and now he gets to watch me fuck you all night long.”

He hooks a hand under her knee and lifts her leg, spreading her wider, fucking her faster, and she cries out, “Nick, Nick, _Nick_ ,” as she comes again, so loudly that she wonders if Archie could’ve heard it without the camera, wherever he may be.

**Author's Note:**

> [come sin with me on tumblr](https://cherryliqueurkinks.tumblr.com/)


End file.
